


The Life and Times of a Sullen Coffee Shop Employee

by Madlyie



Series: The Life and Times of a Sullen Coffee Shop Employee [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BrOTP Montparnasse and Gavroche, M/M, Montparnasse is a sullen coffee shop employee who has enough of stupid pining idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6729841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madlyie/pseuds/Madlyie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Courfeyrac pine for the two new regulars coming to the coffee shop and Montparnasse is 110% done with everyone.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life and Times of a Sullen Coffee Shop Employee

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on [this set of headcanons ](http://vintage-jehan.tumblr.com/post/141141169429/thank-god-for-that-post-about-montparnasse%22/) because I felt like I should write a fic and because it’s me I can’t stop thinking about it until I wrote a fic. Sorry for mistakes. Enjoy. ♥  
> (Credits for the Oedipus joke go to Marc Uwe Kling, he's incredible btw.)

***

 

To say Montparnasse doesn’t understand people who are able to be in a good mood before 7am would be an understatement and well, it's not in his nature to do understatements.

People who are happy, smiling, laughing and - worst of all - _talking_ before 7am are the bane of his existence and he’ll understand the workings of the universe before he’ll understand said people.

It’s 6:56.

Courfeyrac bursts through the door of the coffee shop with a grin as wide as the Nile delta.

“Good morning everyone, how are my most favourite co-workers today? I swear to God, I had the most terrific morning, it’s going to be an absolutely perfect day, I can feel it in my -”

“If you say one more word I will destroy everyone you love and care about.”

“Rude,” Grantaire notes from where he is sitting on the floor behind the counter.

His voice is muffled because his face is buried in his hands and unkempt black hair.

Montparnasse is about two hundred percent sure he’s hungover.

“My, aren’t you two absolute sunshines today,” Courfeyrac comments unfazed as he pulls off his coat.

It’s bright yellow and terrible and Montparnasse had dreams about burning it in the pits of hell at least three times by now. He exchanges it for the mandatory apron that he ties over his dark purple paisley shirt with the fitting goldish yellow bowtie.

Montparnasse hasn’t decided yet if the ensemble is worth an appreciating look or not . At least it doesn’t make him want to claw his eyes out so that’s something.

 

The first customers start to trickle in, mostly students in a hurry who want a black coffee or a double-shot espresso and he manages not to make any rude comments until a girl with a haircut so disastrous that he’s pretty sure it’s supposed to be an insult to the universe steps up to the counter.

Before he can recommend her a specialist that he somehow thinks would have trouble fixing even _that_ Courfeyrac stomps on his foot so hard that he has to bite his lip to stop a truly embarrassing sound from coming out of his mouth.

It turns into some kind of cut off groan.

The girl looks at him worriedly.

With a glare he wordlessly retreats to the coffee machine out of the vicinity of Courfeyrac’s feet and hears him say, “Don’t worry darling, he’s eaten too many carbs yesterday, way to make him moody.”

She leaves with a confused but decidedly less worried face and Courfeyrac turns to him. “Stop being rude to the customers, it’s not good for business.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“No. But you were about to. You had that look on your face. The ‘I have a list with things I hate about this world and right now you’re pretty far on top of that list’-look. It’s very specific.”

“Well, this is my ‘Shut the fuck up’- look,” he snaps back.

Courfeyrac doesn’t even give him the satisfaction of looking insulted.

Instead he laughs and saunters off to rearrange the cupcakes.

He briefly contemplates emptying a cup of something hot, preferably sugary, over his perfectly mussed black curls.

“Don’t,” Grantaire’s voice advises from the floor. He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

Montparnasse leaves it at a glare and a sigh.

God, he hates morning shifts.

 

***

 

A few hours later Grantaire is halfway to being a functioning human being again which means he patiently listens and actually comments on Courfeyrac’s idle chatter that Montparnasse has mastered to tune out along the way.

When the first stream of midday customers arrives he’s even awake enough to be a somewhat tolerable person, not that Montparnasse would admit it, of course.

Grantaire nods and listens seemingly attentive to a stupid looking business man. It’s not really clear _why_ he looks so stupid but it might be a mix of the nose, the ill-fitting suit and the way he sighs a lot, very dramatically while he tells half of his life story in the time it takes Grantaire to make his vanilla latte.

When he takes the cup to the counter he brushes Montparnasse’s shoulder with his, successfully gaining his attention.

“You know,” Grantaire says conversationally and Montparnasse straightens in something that he reluctantly admits is anticipation. “You do remind me of the hero of Sophocles most famous tragedy, you know that?”

Stupid suit-guy sighs dramatically. “Yes, yes. A tragic hero, that’s how I see myself too sometimes.”

He takes his vanilla latte and leaves.

Courfeyrac pulls out a tally sheet and adds one for Grantaire.

They have a competition going on. Who can insult more people without them noticing. Courfeyrac referees because he can’t even insult people ordinarily, he just passive-aggressively stops complimenting.

“King Oedipus,” Montparnasse nods reluctantly impressed. “You just subtly called him a motherfucker.”

Grantaire grins.

 

***

 

The rest of his shift is thankfully slow, so is the next day when he comes in after midday. Some business people, old ladies, mostly students hang around, Courfeyrac hums under his breath, Grantaire chats with customers here and there and doodles on paper cups.

On his first fifteen minutes break that afternoon Brad comes to the back door of the coffee shop where Montparnasse is only wanting to smoke his cigarette in peace and, “No Brad, how often do I have to tell you I don’t sell fucking weed on fucking Tuesdays, come back tomorrow.”

Brad leaves like a kicked - and stoned - puppy probably to inform his other stoned puppy friends of the tragic news.

Montparnasse knows that it’s not in his work contract to sell drugs from the back door of the coffee shop but it’s not like Bahorel doesn’t bake the occasional hash brownies in the kitchen as well.

He doesn’t really know whether to admire or hate Bahorel because he can never find anything to make fun about when it comes to his fashion sense and that is a very frustrating thing. But hating takes a lot less effort.

But he makes kind of good pastries so maybe he doesn’t hate him completely.

Only, say 98%.

He can live with that.

 

***

 

Usually nothing much interesting happens in the coffee shop.

Emphasis on _usually_.

 

Montparnasse has found himself in his fair share of ridiculous situations but this one is pretty far up on the scale of ridiculousness even for the things that have Courfeyrac involved somehow.

The door opens with that annoying ring that makes him want to throw something or stab whoever is responsible in the face with the knife inconspicuously secured in his designer combat boots and inside step two young men, students most likely.

One wears a bright red jacket that makes Montparnasse sigh internally but at least it fits his complexion and blonde hair fairly well. The other one is taller, dark skinned, with glasses nicely accentuating his cheek bones, wearing a simple yet well-tailored white button-up.  

Montparnasse approves.

He’s about to go back to inspecting the black nail polish on his fingernails when he realizes that neither Grantaire nor Courfeyrac have moved since the door opened.

 

He looks to his right, to his left, then at the men stepping up to the counters and curses his co-workers ridiculous inability to function around attractive people.

Courfeyrac’s mouth could have as well turned into a drive-in for flies and other winged creatures and Grantaire looks like he’s seen an angel or had a heart attack. Or both.

 

Montparnasse sighs very loudly and says, “Good afternoon, what can I get for you?” without bothering about something as elaborate as intonation.

“Double shot espresso, please,” Goldilocks says and Cheekbones adds in a calm, less demanding and self-assured way, “Triple shot for me, please. And a blueberry muffin.”

Montparnasse nods and they retreat to one of the tables in the corner. Then he reaches out and tugs at one of Courfeyrac’s stray curls.

It has the desired effect namely pulling Courfeyrac out of his temporarily brain dead state. He lets out a yelp that makes Cheekbones look up with an amused smile only to immediately look down again when his eyes meet Courfeyrac’s who flushes.

Grantaire doesn’t seem to have noticed any of it.

Montparnasse groans and goes to fetch a fucking blueberry muffin.

This is going to be torture.

 

***

 

Torture, as it turns out, is a far too nice word for what Montparnasse has to endure from that day on.

“He’s a _doctor,_ ” Courfeyrac sighs dreamily the next day after bringing Cheekbones and Goldilocks their orders.

“I’m pretty sure he’s not old enough to be more than a medical student,” he deadpans and Courfeyrac simply ignores him.

“His name is Combeferre,” he literally purrs.

Montparnasse isn’t sure if he’s more shocked or disgusted.

 

***

 

Torture, as it turns out, is not even close to it.

They should invent a new word because ‘torture’ feels like trying to sell Dolce & Gabbana Haute Couture in a H&M store, blasphemy practically.

Cheekbones - Combeferre’s - friend Goldilocks obviously listens to the name Enjolras and he’s a hot-tempered, idealistic bullshit talking poli-science student who for some reason seems to have figured out that Grantaire is a cynical bastard and their arguing is almost as annoying as the sexual tension that probably anyone in a ten mile radius can see.

Only that Montparnasse is in a fucking ten _feet_ radius so he has to bear every single lingering glance and every single glare.

He has to listen to Grantaire going from, “Oh my god, he’s such a naive, privileged shit,” to, “Have you seen his eyes? I swear to god, his eyes are the bluest I have ever seen -”

“I’m pretty sure there’s no superlative for colours.”

“- and his hair? It’s like fucking Helios was too distracted to put the sun back in the sky and placed it on top of his head instead.”

Montparnasse starts counting to hundred in his head, slowly, and hopes his urge to strangle Grantaire has subsided by then.

  
***

 

Enjolras and Combeferre become regulars.

_Regulars._

He knows he hasn’t exactly been a saint but even he doesn’t deserve this shit.

 

***

 

“Jesus Christ on a stick,” Gavroche comments and Montparnasse doesn’t know who taught the gremlin how to swear like this but he is pretty sure Éponine is going to have a word with him even when it isn’t his fault.

Well, not all of it.

“You’re telling me,” he says and inconspicuously hands Gavroche a chocolate cupcake without anyone noticing. The boy pretends it appears out of nowhere and doesn’t say anything.

There’s a reason Montparnasse likes him.

Not likes him. Tolerates him. On a good day.

Which is a huge sacrifice on his part because twelve year olds are a pain in the ass.

Courfeyrac has gotten too distracted by Combeferre who is sitting waiting for Enjolras at the counter this day nibbling at his pen that he hasn’t realized that he has been filling the cup in his hand with far too much coffee until it spills all over his fingers.

He yelps and curses colourfully - maybe Éponine  should have a word with _him_ \- and Combeferre looks up, his eyebrows immediately knitting together worriedly.

“Is everything alright?”

“What? Oh, yeah, no, I just… think I burned my fingers there a little.”

“Do you want me to take a look at it?”

When Combeferre rounds the corner and gently takes Courfeyrac’s hand in his Montparnasse can’t believe he’s really that oblivious to not realize how that was smooth as fuck.

Courfeyrac looks like he’s ready to swoon.

“Disgusting,” Gavroche announces, chocolate stuck between his teeth, and somehow sounds gleeful.

 

***

 

“How can someone be so intelligent and at the same time so completely delusional? Like, have you seen the world we live in? How does he stay so fucking full of hope all the time, I don’t understand! I don’t understand and he’s so fierce about it and bright and -”

“Please stop talking to me.”

 

***

 

“He’s so nice, I mean at first I thought he was just hot, you know tall dark and handsome is totally my type, but he isn’t, I mean yeah, he is hot, of course. Duh. But he’s also incredibly sweet and genuine and smart, he’s so smart, he’s -”

“I get it, okay? I get it.”

***

 

“And no one should be that fucking attractive when talking about civil rights like it’s not supposed to be an attractive topic, it’s depressing as fuck but well I guess here we are -”

“I really don’t want to hear about your weird fantasies.”

 

***

 

“Parnasse, would you judge me if I told you I think I have a doctor kink?”

“ _Oh my god._ ”

 

***

 

Gavroche watches Courfeyrac and Combeferre with wide eyes while eating a cinnamon roll with raspberries.

They’re not even doing anything.

They’re literally just standing there _looking_ at each other after their conversation just stopped at one point and now they’ve been staring at each other for a whole _minute_ and Montparnasse is absolutely fucking done.

He clenches his fist in the dishtowel he’s been holding in his hand and snaps.

“Stop it.”

Both of them startle and even though the redness is more easily visible on Courfeyrac’s skin he’s sure Combeferre is blushing just as much.

He cleares his throat and pushes his glasses up his nose. “Is everything alright?” he inquires politely and Montparnasse’s left eye twitches.

He looks at Courfeyrac who is not meeting his eye, back at Combeferre.

“I literally can’t be here anymore.”

He throws the towel into the air, turns around and leaves and at least he has the satisfaction of two shocked pairs of eyes and Gavroche’s laughter following him out of the room.

 

***

 

It’s Grantaire’s day off.

“Hey.”

‘Please go away, please go away, please go away’, Montparnasse thinks but when he turns around Enjolras is still there.

He takes a deep breath. “What?” he says and it doesn’t even sound too rude, he thinks.

It’s not easy because Enjolras still, _always_ wearing that stupid red jacket.

Montparnasse wonders if he uses product for his hair. It’s so… fluffy.

“Is-,” he starts and then he looks nervous but only for a second, “Is Grantaire here?”

Montparnasse blinks. Then he slowly answers, “No.”

“Where is he?”

Grantaire has an art exhibition in a gallery uptown and even if Montparnasse hadn’t paid attention to what he was talking about he couldn’t have missed it because Courfeyrac had been talking nonstop about the same thing.

“Not here, do you want your double-shot espresso or not?”

Enjolras murmures an affirmative, definitely looking sullen now.

God, he thought one of them was bad but obviously one without the other is just as worse.

He stands at the coffee machine and is a little bit surprised that Enjolras’s doesn’t know about the exhibition but from the glimpses Montparnasse had gotten on Grantaire’s sketchbook during the last weeks he’s pretty sure it would be kind of awkward for Enjolras to show up there.

Or….

He grabs a paper cup and one of Grantaire’s pens that are strewn everywhere around the coffee shop.

“I didn’t want it to go,” Enjolras says but Montparnasse simply presses the cup with the scribbled address into his hand.

“Believe me, you do. Now get out of my sight.”

 

***

 

It’s easier with Combeferre and Courfeyrac because they might not be less oblivious but at least less stubborn and don’t pretend to hate each other.

It’s Courfeyrac’s day off.

“Hey.”

Combeferre looks at Montparnasse as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Hello?” he says and it comes out more of a question because Montparnasse usually doesn’t bother talking to customers when bringing them their orders.

“You should ask Courfeyrac out.”

Combeferre blinks. “Excuse me?” he says politely.

Montparnasse wants to punch him in his handsome face. “You. Should ask Courfeyrac out.”

“I don’t know, I _want_ to, I just - I don’t want to assume-”

“You. Should. Ask. Him. Out.”

“I,” he says and Montparnasse forces himself to breath.

“No, really man, you should totally ask him out,” Gavroche chimes in and Montparnasse is going to ask Bahorel to bake him the biggest fucking chocolate cake in existence. “I mean if the amount of times he stares at your butt is anything to go by you’re practically married already.”

Montparnasse has to admit he would have expected Combeferre to choke on his coffee or something but instead a slow smile spreads over his face. “Is that so?”

Huh.

Still waters run deep, as it seems.

  
***

 

The universe obviously isn’t particularly grateful for his service to humanity.

He walks straight back out again when he walks in on Enjolras and Grantaire in the kitchen for the first time and Bahorel grins smugly from where he is sitting at the counter in his apron and flour in his hair. God, he hates that guy. 

Courfeyrac sits on Combeferre’s lap while the later one is studying, absorbed in his book and Courfeyrac gently runs his fingers through his dark hair while simply watching him with awe in his bright eyes. He presses a kiss to his forehead and Combeferre’s lips stretch into a smile. It’s so sweet it’s disgusting.

 

Montparnasse let’s his head drop onto the counter.

“I fucking hate this fucking job.”

Gavroche pats his head with the fondness of a seventy-year old grandma and the sarcastic smugness of a twelve year old.

Then he pulls his hand away before Montparnasse can break his fingers and snatches a vanilla-bean coconut cupcake from behind the counter.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Nope.”

“Shut up.”

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> You are hereby invited to come and talk to me about Parnasse and pining idiots on [tumblr](http://vintage-jehan.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Also a wonderful, wonderful person did [ART FOR THIS ](http://deboracabral.tumblr.com/post/159933509253/i-wanted-to-try-my-hand-at-comics-this-is-a-scene) and it's so amazing, I can't even???
> 
> And now a podfic??? Thank you so much, I don't know what to say, you're all so incredible!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Life and Times of a Sullen Coffee Shop Employee (Series)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10988976) by [Sunfreckle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Sunfreckle)




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